Catch Me, I'm Falling
by merrywanderer
Summary: Both Blair and Dan are spinning out of control. She never properly dealt with a psychologically damaging tragedy, and he refuses to acknowledge that he just might share the blame for his own downfall, all of which leads to emotional turmoil. ANGST. This is how I justify their actions in the Season 5 finale and then set things right.
1. Chapter 1

**Catch Me, I'm Falling**

Dan is drunk.

Words slurred, heavy lidded, falling down drunk.

He's currently slumped over in a bar stool with his arm around a petite redhead named Ava, or Amy.

"So you're a writer, huh?" She's a giggler.

"Yeah, I'm a writer. And you're what again, a nurse?"

"No, I'm a dental hygienist!" Giggle, giggle.

It doesn't really matter what she does, he has only inquired for the sake of conversation. Not that he is all that interested in conversation. It is simply a means to an end.

Twenty minutes later they' re in the bathroom of the bar. It's an all too familiar scene, the girl pressed up against the wall, leg hitched around the boy's waist. Dan knows how to entice her. He's gotten pretty good at it as of late.

He doesn't even bother asking for her number when it's all said and done. He just thanks her for helping him pass the time and stumbles out onto the street.

The next time it happens he's in an open alleyway. The lights are dim, but not so dim that passersby can't deduce what's going on. She's bold and she likes his brazenness.

"There's more to you than meets the eye, Daniel Humphrey."

He doesn't speak, only responds with a smirk. He wants to please her, to hear her say his name. She does.

He always introduces himself as Daniel to them. He's not prepared to hear the word she used to whisper into his ear.

It's happening more and more frequently and often in the same types of places. Bars, hotel rooms, alleys, even once in a movie theater. It was a period piece and she arrived to the sound of horses racing across a vacuous field. Fitting.

The women are nameless, and depending upon how inebriated he is, sometimes faceless. They all share similar traits; petite, witty, bold, and are generally well dressed. They never have brown hair though. For the most part they come in varying degrees of blonde, an appropriate shade for he's recreating the past, tarnishing old memories bathed in her, the one who desecrated his heart and served it up to him on a silver 'screw you' shaped platter.

He spends the weeks leading up to the release of his second novel effectively smashed, indulging in all manner of debauchery, never once coming up for air.

...

Blair is drunk.

Always so poised and proper, no one knows, but she's intoxicated.

She sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap and pretends to listen to the words coming out of Chuck's mouth. He's going on about some merger his father is attempting and what a mistake it is and blah, blah, blah. She can't seem to find the will to concentrate on what he's saying because she is pretty sure she heard this same story yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.

She's bored.

She tells herself that it's her own fault for spending too much time at work, for immersing herself in her mother's business. It's her own fault that Chuck isn't willing to trust her yet, to go all in. She should have been more sensitive to his needs. She tells herself lies and she almost believes them.

She has just about everything she has ever strived for and yet there is a part of her that feels unfinished. She's not entirely sure what the source of the nagging is, but she has a hunch that it has something to do with him, the one she left behind. This annoys her exceedingly.

He was just a fling, a brief interlude between her before and her happily ever after. She didn't love him, doesn't love him. He doesn't pop up in her dreams at night murmuring sweet nothings into her ear and filling her heart with such joy that she thinks it might burst. And when the dream is through, she doesn't pull her copy of his book out from her nightstand and reread her favorite parts. She doesn't have any favorite parts of that book anyway. It's a fantasy. She tells the manager of the local Barnes and Noble as much and that it should be filed away in the Fantasy section of the store and how could you be so incompetent as to let this happen? She rants and starts to scream about how things should fit neatly into their proper places and shouldn't be forced into unsuitable places, obviously. She gathers all the copies of his book and crams them into any open slots she can find between Goodkind and Jordan but the books are so tightly packed. When her fingernail rips from it's bed the books topple out of her arms, a jumble of open spines and bent pages and she sinks to her knees. She's crying now and refuses to move from the aisle and someone has to be called.

She doesn't understand why it's his face she sees leaning against the Tolkiens some time later.

"Why are you here?" She snaps.

He looks at her through glazed eyes and sighs.

"Apparently mine is the first name in the speed dial on your phone."

"Well, I don't need your help."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear but I received a call nevertheless."

Her eyes are rimmed in red and the contents of her purse are scattered on the floor around her as if she's been looking for something but got fed up and dumped the whole thing out. She's beginning to wake up as if from a dream and she is flustered.

"Look, I'm sorry to involve you in my mess. I seem to have misplaced my engagement ring. I thought it was in my bag, but it's not. It's gone. I guess I just flipped or something." She doesn't mention that she didn't discover the missing ring until after the book incident.

His face hardens. Her words open up an already festering wound that he carries with him. He can't believe that he loved this wicked creature before him, pooled in her own instability. He wants to spit at her or spank her or something else disrespectful so she can feel even an ounce of what he feels. Maybe a bookseller will get him a bucket of ice water to dump on her. That might do the trick, for now. She might awaken and recognize the pain she has caused him, the ruin. She might realize her mistake.

"Why weren't you wearing it?"

His tone is sharp and pointed and she understands the subtext exactly as he intends.

"It has to be sized. It's a little loose. Not that it's any of your business." She's lying and he knows it.

She was never his business. Not when they were together and certainly not now. He pulls her up after she's collected her things and drags her to the subway. She bitches about how classless he is and demands to know why he's drunk in the middle of the day. He refuses to speak to her the rest of the way home.

As they ride up the elevator together, the nagging feeling nags and nags and before she knows whats happening, she's reaching for his hand and holding on for dear life.

His breathing becomes unsteady and he desperately wants to fling her hand away from him but he can't. As much as he wants to, and he really wants to, he won't hurt her like that. Her pull on him is stronger than ever and he might have to resign himself to the fact.

Ding. The doors open.

She hesitates momentarily and he sees she is trying to breathe him in, to savor this moment for they both know what happens next. Finally she lets go, she releases him and he thinks he might disintegrate right there on the spot.

"I know what you're doing, by the way."

Her voice is empty, hollow. There is no anger behind it now, only sadness.

"What are talking about Blair?"

"You're screwing half of Manhattan in all of our spots. I know what you're doing."

Here it is, their official end. She's tying it off with a neat little bow and he doesn't know if he can muster the strength to speak clearly. His voice comes out strained and harsh.

"I'm taking them back. All of the things we shared. I'm taking them back."

Her back is to him, but he can sense her muscles seizing up and it satisfies his malevolent need for revenge.

"I'll be sure to remove your number from my list."

...

Dan is not sober.

He has a drinking problem, for crying out loud, and he can't be expected to be "on" one hundred percent of the time without a little help.

He's tired of the chastising, sick of the judgement, but primarily he misses the numbness. So he takes a drink, just a small one. A little Maker's Mark over ice with a dash of lime never hurt anyone. Besides, he really needs the boost today. Today sucks.

He's not sure why they sent him an invitation. He's not going. No way in hell is he going to step foot near that circus.

He saw their announcement in the paper a couple of weeks ago as he was leaving his first official meeting, no sponsor, just a meeting, and he doesn't know why it hit him so hard. He'd known about the wedding for months now, it was all New York's elite were talking about and it was all over Gossip Girl.

He hangs his head in shame over the fact that he still checks Gossip Girl and he lifts the cool drink to his lips. He tells himself that everyone slips up at first, it's normal.

It's normal to need a drink when the love of your life is walking down the aisle toward another man, even if she is a poisonous harpy.

So he drinks and he talks to anyone who will listen. The bartender calls him a cab around nine o'clock and impulsively Dan gives the driver the address to her reception.

...

Blair is not sober.

She's getting married today and she is expected to be perfect so it's just to take the edge off, really, it's to help. It's a good thing.

She took the pills from her mother's rainy day stash. Eleanor won't even miss them. Her mother would want her to be relaxed and that is exactly what she is. She is floating on a cloud, high above the room and looking down on herself and the world. She sees an elegant Vera Wang draped over the settee upon which she is perched. She sees an intricate braid woven into a bun, low and angled toward her left ear. She sees sparkling jewelry on her neck, wrists, fingers, ears, and it is exquisite but it's so shiny that she can't see her face or make out her features.

It dawns on her that this is how the world sees her. She's an intelligent, shiny, beautiful, elitist accessory. No, worse than an accessory. She's a prop with no face and no real identity.

Panic begins to set in despite her valium clouded brain. The nausea comes like a tidal wave, hitting her before she can make it to the bathroom and the refuse stains the bottom of her dress. Her scream alerts her mother who comes running to find Blair sobbing on the settee, her mascara in dark streaks down her face.

"Blair! What on earth is the matter?"

"My dress...It's ruined. I got sick and I couldn't make it to...oh, it's ruined! Everything's ruined. Everything is wrong!"

"Now don't worry dear, I can handle this. You just need to calm down and clean up your face. We can't have our little Mrs. Bass looking a mess, now can we?"

It is meant to lift the mood, to cheer her up yet in traditional Eleanor fashion it is also a dig at her daughter's unruly, irrational behavior. The slap to her pride is just what she needs to pull herself together. She sits erect at the mirror and reapplies her mask.

The reception is blowing and going when he arrives. The jazz band is blasting _Mack the Knife_ as he scans the room and spots her chatting up a senator with that plastic smile he has come to loathe and seen her give a hundred times, though never once directed at him. She looks immaculate, the epitome of elegance but there is something that is off about her. He can't place it so he heads to the bar.

She spots him almost immediately and her stomach flip-flops as she mindlessly nods at the senator who won't stop ogling her. She excuses herself without an explanation and makes a beeline for Dan and the bar but she does not stop. She merely glares at him and motions for him to follow her, careful not to draw any attention from unwanted onlookers.

When they are alone in the hallway, her senses are heightened for she is angrier with him than she has ever been. He reeks of alcohol so he's probably drunk again. His hair's a mess, his clothes are stupid, yet he still manages to elicit wanton thoughts from her, and how the hell did he get in anyway?

"I got an invitation in the mail."

Oh. "Well I certainly didn't send it to you."

"I figured as much. I'm sure it was Chuck, marking his territory."

"You make him sound so barbaric."

"You said it, not me."

"For your information, Chuck and I happen to be in a very good place. He's attentive, and trustworthy, and he takes care of me."

"Well that's good seeing as you just bound yourself to him. I wasn't aware you needed taking care of."

"Let's get one thing straight here, Dan. You don't know anything about me or my life at the moment. You could have. I tried to reach out to you. I tried to be your friend again last summer but you would have nothing to do with me!"

She feels an ache within at her own words and she thinks she might have to sit down. She starts to teeter on her stilettos but Dan's hand steadies her elbow. She shudders at his touch. It is the most deliciously painful feeling. His soft, strong hands are one of her favorite features and to feel them on her bare skin, touching her is exhilarating. But with the pleasure comes a burn for the stark realization that she is a married woman now hits her like a ton of bricks. She doesn't jerk her arm away though. She stands as a statue, unmoving and cold.

Dan recognizes his affect on her and can't suppress his smugness. Good. Let her feel a bit of what he feels. She should know what it's like to wake up every morning from a blissful dream only to have reality bring your world crashing down moments later. She should know what it feels like to want and to love and to loathe all at once. He tightens his grip ever so slightly. Initially he thinks he is exerting dominance over her, but that is not who he is and he couldn't ever be that person with her anyway, and why does he keep putting himself in these situations? He holds firm to her for he is the one supporting her and keeping her upright. His gaze travels to her chest where her heart beats underneath, the in and out accelerated and accentuated. She's losing it. He places his palm over her heart and presses against it in an effort to calm it down.

Again his touch is electric. It's passionate, and soothing, and frightening. Her lids close as she takes in air through her nose and blows it out through her mouth. She does this several times and all the while his hand remains, steadying her, telling her things it ought not to on her wedding day.

"Why are you here Dan?" His name from her lips is a prayer, consecrated by his steadfast hand, mollifying her distress.

"Because I need to know why. Why this?" He gestures haphazardly with his free hand.

She had known it would come. Some day or another this question was an inescapable fact. Her response is premeditated and composed.

"You and I never made sense. We didn't fit."

"Lies."

It's not good enough for him. It's a copout, a rehearsed ploy to get him out of the way. He rips his hand from her chest and points menacingly at her.

"You're a liar. None of this makes sense. You left me without a word or an explanation and you expect me to believe that it was because we didn't fit? No. What you're doing today is contradictory to everything you ever told me about what you wanted in life and in a partner. It's all such bullshit, Blair! The sad thing is I think you are so delusional right now that you actually believe the manure you're trying to feed me. There is so much more lurking under the surface that you refuse to acknowledge because you know that if you did, you wouldn't be standing here in front of me in a white gown getting married to _him_ and to his world."

Blair has trouble focusing on his words but the sentiment behind them is clear. She seeks refuge in the sanctuary of her mind for there is so much truth being flung at her and she is unable to process it, try as she might. She feels herself beginning to spiral downward and she reaches for his hand so things can go back to the way they were five minutes ago.

This time he's not having any of it. He wrenches from her grasp and tells her that he's no longer her play thing. Tells her he is done with her and that she can have Chuck and the Upper East Side but she'll have to manage it without him. Tells her that he knows it was a jackass move to do this to her on her wedding day, but this is who he has become and there's only her to thank for it. He punishes her for rejecting him by placing the blame for his current state entirely on her and it is so gratifying to watch her believe him.

She steadies herself against the wall and stands up straight but her insides have crumbled to ash. His cruelty stuns her. This is not the man she lov-this is not the man she knows. They've reached a turning point from which there is no going back. She knows it. He knows it.

"I don't know who you are." Her words sting him for a bit, but not enough to shut his mouth.

"That makes two of us." He downs the rest of his drink and spitefully wipes his mouth on his sleeve as he storms out, knowing it will disgust her.

She doesn't see it though. She has already retreated.

He looks back, once, just as he nears the door and sees her staring absentmindedly at her hands. She places them against her chest, then removes them, places them again, then removes them again. Dan is not sober, but if he were, he would recognize that something is very wrong with Blair. He would realize that his angry words were quite accurate and even a bit prophetic.

_End of Part One_


	2. Chapter 2

Dan can't sleep.

He spends most nights tossing and turning until he gives in to the insomnia. He usually picks up a book and a scotch and settles into the couch for the few hours until dawn.

Tonight he can't concentrate on a book. His mind is preoccupied with her.

He doesn't think about her too much anymore, or at least he tries not to. She is happier without him and he's better off without her. Besides, she's married, and he's in a relationship so any fleeting thoughts of torrid affairs are fruitless.

She's also positively infuriating and someone who turns him into the worst version of himself so why bother thinking about her anyway?

But tonight she consumes his thoughts. He recalls the way her heart shaped lips would pinch together when she was angry with him and how all he had to do was tell her not to smile and she would be laughing. His mind wanders to her shape, the curves he used to run his fingers along until she begged him to make love to her. He remembers her large, doe like eyes that despite her best efforts betrayed sadness when they filled with tears. She was sad quite a bit, come to think of it.

That day in the hospital was the worst of that particular brand.

She had just woken up from surgery to find him slumped over in a chair next to her bed. Their fingers were clasped together in an awkward knot. The first few moments of lucidness were filled with explanations and reassurances, but after she understood where she was and how she had gotten there, the tough questions came.

"And the baby?"

Dan's face said it all. Her despair was heartbreaking and he pledged in that hospital room to take care of her, no matter what. He never wanted her to feel that way again.

It's funny how much time and distance can change things.

He opens his laptop and begins to type. Old habits die hard and Blair Waldorf is his vice. His fingers fly across the keyboard recording wishes unfulfilled and thoughts unspoken. She is corrupt and he abhors her and he worships her for it.

Alessandra calls to him in the dark from his bed, but he waves her off in favor of his work.

In the wee hours of the morning he is awakened by the chirp of his cell phone. He lifts his face from the keyboard and chuckles at having fallen asleep on the 'F' key. His screen is filled with a modest man's profanity and he finds it humorous. His mood is short-lived, however, because when he looks at his phone, the caller is Chuck Bass.

"Hello?"

"Humphrey, I'm sorry to call at such a ridiculous hour but I didn't know what else to do."

Dan's mind reels as he waits for the words that he knows are coming. There is only one reason why Chuck Bass would phone him.

"It's Blair."

...

Blair can't sleep.

Well, it's not so much that she can't sleep, but she won't sleep for if she does the dreams come.

When she first noticed them she brushed them off, just a weird side effect from the stress of being newly married. _Are newlyweds supposed to be stressed? _It was just a fluke.

But it's been a year now and they lingered and began to pester and then bother and now they are just...torturous. She can't concentrate on the simplest of tasks. She can't hold up a conversation and more often than not, she doesn't care to anyway. Dorota has moved in temporarily to "help her adjust" but she functions more like a babysitter than anything else.

Dorota tells Chuck there is something wrong with Miss Blair, she found her hiding this morning and she was crying. She wasn't making sense and it took her thirty minutes to talk her out from under the bed. This is not normal, she tells him. This is not healthy. Miss Blair is not herself. Chuck waves her away and blames it on the fact that she's tired and she doesn't like things to be out of order. Then he reprimands her for bringing her children to work with her.

She's been awake for nearly 48 hours and her mind is wandering aimlessly. She has no control over it. She just wants it to stop so she can grab two hours of uninterrupted sleep. She just wants to sleep, to drift off and dream away the past...

_She's walking down a dark hall toward a door that she's never seen before. She opens the door and sees a large basket in the corner. No, it's not a basket, it's a bassinet which means there is a baby inside of it. A soft, sweet smelling, baby boy. As she approaches the corner, something begins to gnaw at her and anxiousness sets in. It feels awful. Scary. She doesn't know if she should continue, but the gnawing will chew away at her regardless so she walks on. She lifts the delicate fabric and the horror underneath evokes a guttural sound from the pit of her lungs that travels up and out of her throat so that the dead are awakened and the living cower in fear._

She is screaming and she can't stop. She hasn't regained control even though the dream is over.

"It's empty. Oh my god, it was empty."

The ceiling is caving in and there is nothing she can do about it. Chuck comes running and places his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugs them off and runs for the balcony. The drapes are ripped open, the door crashes in its frame and she throws her body against the thin railing that is the only thing separating her from the chasm that is the busy street below.

Chuck tries to grab her but the closer he gets to her, the further away from him she creeps and she's hysterical. He's shouting at her to come back inside and why is she doing this and oh my god please don't lean over the rails! He doesn't know what to do and he's starting to really panic now so he reaches for his phone and calls the only person who can help her.

"Humphrey, I'm sorry to call at such a ridiculous hour but I didn't know what else to do. It's Blair. She's...out of her mind. She's crying on the balcony and she won't let me near her. I'm worried she might do something."

"I'll be right there."

When he gets there, he doesn't see her at first and his stomach drops into the floor. But then he hears a faint voice singing some sort of lullaby, the words floating in the space between them like a beacon. He follows it until he finds the source. She's sitting with her back against the balcony, one arm trailing out between the railings, whose gaps look unusually large in this light. Chuck is seated just inside the door on their minimalist sofa with no back, his head resting in his hands.

He approaches her slowly so as not to startle her and his heart breaks at the realization that the great Blair Waldorf is in shambles. She spots him and her eyes fill again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dan. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

He cautiously sits down beside her, wincing at the state of her. "Eh, I wasn't doing anything important." He releases a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

"I think I must be losing my mind. I'm so tired, but I don't want to sleep because when I do, I see him. But I'm so tired."

"Well, you can get some sleep right now. If you'd like, I can stay here, just like this."

She has the presence of mind to glance into the apartment for Chuck, but he's no longer sitting on the sofa. He's nowhere in sight. She nods her head yes and falls fitfully to sleep against his shoulder. She talks in her sleep murmuring coos and sweet clucks and fidgeting every so often.

"I can't do that, what you did." Chuck's whisper startles Dan out of his dream and he is suddenly and acutely aware of his arm around Blair. She is practically sitting in his lap.

"You could if you tried. She needs you to try. I'm not the one who should be sitting here. I'm too damaging, too selfish. I've said things that I can't take back and she doesn't need me. She needs you."

Chuck doesn't look at Dan when he speaks. "You always were a good storyteller."

When she awakens, Dan is gone. He is not hers, after all.

...

Dan is falling apart.

It's been a week since the incident with Blair and he's had a drink everyday. He tells himself that she made him do it, that she brings out the worst in him. This time he doesn't even attempt to believe the lie.

He's gotten very good at blaming all of his problems on her. Alessandra is furious about his night with Blair. What is the drama this time, she asks. Why couldn't Chuck handle her, she says. Why is she always running back to you, she bellows.

Because we're good together. We help each other grow, he answers honestly. She doesn't like this and she threatens to leave him. He doesn't beg her to stay.

He calls Chuck to check up on her but he doesn't answer. He doesn't blame the guy. If Dan had a wife who was as connected to another man as he is to Blair, he would probably do the same thing.

Dorota is the one who spills the beans. She is shopping for groceries and Dan runs into her in the produce aisle.

"Have you been by to see Miss Blair yet? She is awfully lonely in her room. Only two visitors a day." She is casually sniffing a cantaloupe.

He briefly considers telling her the truth, that he has no idea what she is talking about, but decides that the best way to get information is to play along.

"No, I haven't been by, but I've been meaning to. What's her room number again?"

"325. And no need bring flowers. Room is too fragrant as is."

"Got it. You don't happen to have the address as well, do you?"

...

Blair is falling apart.

She cries when she wakes up, she thinks everyone is laughing at her behind her back.

She's plagued with worry about her mental state and wonders if she might be crazy. Bass women are not crazy. They might be eccentric or quirky even, but not crazy. They do not suffer from mental deficiencies. Chuck is expecting her to bounce back from this. Maybe not expecting, but hoping.

She picks up the phone to call Dan twelve times a day, just to thank him of course, but also to hear his voice, just a little bit. She dials the area code and the next six digits but can't bring herself to complete the number.

She's seeing a psychiatrist daily which is humiliating enough, but the fact that they have people watching her during all hours of the day, well, that is just crushing.

"I'm fine. Really. I've just been under a lot of stress." Day one.

"Look, I understand that it looked really bad, but Waldorf women are prone to the dramatic. It's nothing." Day two.

"Oh god, again? I don't mean to be rude but I feel like you've been asking me the same questions over and over. Can we just be done? I'm fine!" Day four.

"Get out of my room." Day six.

"I don't care who's here to see me, it's none of their business how I'm doing! Wait. Who did you say is here again?" Day seven.

Dan is at the front desk requesting to see her. Oh god. She thinks she will die if he sees her like this. He can't know how truly fucked up she is.

"Please tell him I'm not accepting visitors at this time."

He comes back the next day, and the next, and the day after that and each time she refuses to see him. The one person who knows how to soothe her soul wants to see her and she won't let him in. Warped logic. Except it's not so warped when she throws Chuck into the equation. How could she hurt him? He's stood by her through this nightmare. Letting Dan in would destroy him. So she refuses.

Her "Big Brothers", as she refers to them, are finally relieved of their duties and she starts to feel some semblance of normalcy. She still has to deal with "The Quack" who visits once daily but there are worse things, she supposes. She's not so bad anyway once you get past the polyester suits and cheap stockings. She's actually quite pleasant to talk to, that is, if you feel like talking.

And maybe she does feel like talking. She tried it a few days ago and it relieved some of the pressure weighing down on her skull. It doesn't mean anything, of course, but there's no harm in talking. It's just words and thoughts formed into coherent sentences and Blair is an excellent orator.

So they talk, and Blair talks, and The Quack talks, and they begin to understand each other. They're not friends, that's not possible for the lines would be blurred. They are patient and doctor and Blair begins to accept this turn of events. She has a psychiatrist. Blair Waldorf (Bass) has her very own shrink whom she sees regularly and talks to until she's blue in the face. She needs therapy and it is helping and one incredible day Blair has a breakthrough.

...

Dan is tired.

He's so very tired. He's spent the last couple of months trying to get his life in order and it's just exhausting.

His first step was to get a sponsor. A real sponsor who wouldn't put up with his bullshit and who'd tell him when he's being a dick, but most importantly would walk with him through sobriety. Because it sucks. His brain is no longer clouded and it's forcing him to view his life in clarity. The edges of who he is are razor sharp and cut those who attempt to get close to him, but he doesn't know how to soften them.

His next step is to stop blaming her for his unhappiness. He is faced with the difficult truth that he will never have the life he truly wants, or rather will never share that life with the person he truly desires to share it with. If he is to have any hope for a contented existence, he must move on. He must leave her behind and in order to do that, he must forgive her.

So he keeps trying to see her, even after she's been released. Even after Chuck has him thrown out of their foyer. Even after his sponsor tells him his behavior is not at all what he'd been advising and it is borderline obsessive.

"But, if I see her I can tell her that I'm sorry for what I said to her. I can tell that there's nothing wrong with her and I never should have blamed her. I can tell her that I just want her to be happy."

"I think you want to see her for the wrong reasons, Dan. You want more than just forgiveness. You want her to know how special she is to you. It's evident in the way you speak about her. You've got to look elsewhere for your own happiness otherwise you're just going to fall back into the same cycle of bad habits. You've got to get back that thing that makes you happiest. That thing that isn't her."

Dan nods his head up and down and wishes that people would stop trying to fix him.

...

Blair is tired.

She's tired of talking, of soul searching, of hearing the truth.

"You're not ready."

She gazes out the window of The Quack's office thoroughly spent from the endless analyzing. She's lazily chewing a piece of peppermint gum and bites her cheek and her hand flies to her face in response to the pain.

"Now don't be so upset, it's not that bad. You'll get there eventually."

Blair rolls her eyes and doesn't correct her mistake. She leans back into the sofa in her psychiatrist's office and wonders if she will ever feel like herself again.

"Blair, listen to me. You look fine. You sound fine. You may even believe you're fine, but you're just as miserable as the day I met you. That is the source of my concern. You have a lifetime of healing ahead of you and you have to face that fact. I want you to take some time and rediscover those things we talked about, those things that made you happy before the baby died."

Blair cringes at her blatant use of the 'd' word. It still sounds foreign to her ears, unrecognizable and muffled. But she understands its meaning now which is more than she could say two months ago.

"I will." Her voice is so quiet it is barely audible.

When she arrives home Chuck wants to know how it went. His concern is admirable but she always detects a hint of dread in his voice, as if he's afraid she'll actually answer honestly. So she tells him she's fine, she's making excellent progress, and the doctor (Quack) seems to think she'll be ready to go back to work very soon. She doesn't tell him about her list.

She had already started it in the car on the way home, nothing written down but it was in her head and it began with the small things. Visiting art museums, eating delicate French pastries with her father (well, doing just about anything with her father), getting up early to watch the sunrise with a steaming mug of French roast in hand (she's sensing a theme), the duck pond, disagreeing about films and actors and almost everything with Dan.

She'll have to forgo the last one.

She moves on to the bigger things. Feeling fulfilled, being powerful, loving and being loved, spending time with her family, spending even more time with her best friends...all of whom want nothing to do with her. Serena is bopping about town being fabulous, Nate is preoccupied with his "paper", and Dan is busy being Dan. She supposes she'll start with the smaller things. It doesn't matter anyway, the whole thing is stupid.

Dan is tired and Blair is tired and somehow they both end up in line at the same snack bar adjacent to the Kandinsky gallery at the Guggenheim. She sees him first and contemplates running in the other direction but the coffee smells so good and she is in need of caffeine. So she stays and waits until he notices her.

He sees her right after he's placed his order and is momentarily stunned. The cashier has to prompt him to pay. He fumbles with his wallet and with his composure before handing the disgruntled fellow a crumpled five dollar bill and telling him to keep the change.

"You a Kandinsky fan?" She breezes out as if everything is normal.

He blinks and thinks she must be joking. "Blair. How-how are you doing? And why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm doing well, thank you. I've been getting some _help._" The word is loaded with meaning. It's like when southerners say _bless her heart_ but really mean something entirely different like _what a slutty little whore, she deserves everything she gets. _It's a very un-Blair like thing to say.

"What do you mean by _help_? Are you seeing someone about it? Are you taking something?" He is desperate to know and it is not lost on her. His eyes dart back and forth between her face and her bag as if he hopes to use x-ray vision to catch a glimpse of her bounty inside.

"I'm getting help, Dan. That's all I care to share with you. It's a private matter." She sounds cold even to her own ears and she cringes slightly at his distressed expression.

"Okay, but are you, I mean," He can feel himself losing his cool and its magnified by her put togetherness. "Are you gonna be okay? I'd just like to know, you know, because that night was...I'll never forget it."

She doesn't know if it's the concern in his voice or the way his foot is nervously tapping, or maybe it's just her own resolve melting, but she reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm going to be fine, Dan. You don't have to worry about me anymore. You can," She falters a bit. "You can move on."

He sets his jaw firmly. "Easier said than done." He walks away from her not knowing if it will be the last time he sees her and the thought is devastating.

It's not the last time he sees her.

Dan isn't sure who is happier about it, him or Blair. She's having lunch with Serena, still mending fences and whatnot, when he shows up at the Van der Woodsen penthouse she now shares with Eric. Blair is an accomplished actress so it takes a skilled eye to perceive what's really going on in her head but Dan had discovered her tell years ago when he caught her sabotaging interns at W magazine. There's a split second before she pulls out her act in which her face reveals everything. He saw it as soon as he stepped through the door. It vanished within a breath but he's sure it was there, though he's not sure what to do with the information.

"Hey. I'm here to meet Eric. We're gonna catch a movie."

"Oh. Didn't he call you?" Serena pipes in. "My dad showed up this morning and whisked him off to Connecticut for some "bonding". Whatever. I think he was secretly excited about it though."

"Oh. Okay. I'll just head out then."

"Why don't I come with you?" The words are out in Waldorf fashion and she can't put them back in even though they are the very opposite of what she wants to say. Even though they are the exact words she wants to say.

He's surprised again and it's all over his face but he recovers much quicker this time around.

"Won't Serena mind? Aren't you two having lunch?"

"Oh, we've been together all morning. It's fine, you two go ahead." Serena has changed quite a bit in the last year or so and after this exchange Dan is filled with a rush of affection for her. He smiles at her.

Blair frowns at him. "Don't want to be late Humphrey, let's go."

Sitting in a darkened theater next to Blair Waldorf is sustenance for him. She comments the entire way through the film and doesn't let up after it's over. She blathers on about this actor's performance and that directorial choice and wasn't the lighting atrocious Humphrey?

The same thing happens a week later and the week after that and the week after that. They start planning to run into one another and it feels so familiar that Blair begins to wonder why she ever thought about crossing it off her list. It's so nice to have him here to talk to, to listen to, and to turn her desolate spirit into a blithe one. Even Chuck doesn't seem to mind. Chuck is a good actor too.

They go on like this for weeks, then months, and all the while Blair is rediscovering who she is, and who she was before her world caved in on her. They develop an easy dynamic between them and are regularly mistaken for a couple. When this happens, Blair is quick to correct and dismiss the offender. Sometimes, afterwards, she retreats into her dark place for a few days, but she always emerges, a little bit brighter than before.

It comes as no surprise when Dan's feelings for Blair return in full force. He had known this would happen, had been advised against it, yet some part of him values his time with her more than the pain that will come when she leaves him again.

They are sitting on a park bench by her pond, basking in each other's company, when the moment comes. She's run out of bread for the ducks and Dan offers to run to the market five long blocks and two short blocks away. She stops him from getting up by touching his shoulder, but she misjudges the distance or he moves and she ends up placing the palm of her hand against his cheek. His eyes close and his heart begins to race. They both know what's remained between them and what can't happen. They both know that as soon as they acknowledge it, this is over. The spell will be broken and Cinderfella will have to go back to Brooklyn empty handed and broken hearted. He settles into the bench and slumps over before either of them say a word.

"I don't want to go anymore. To the store." He glances her way, hoping she'll understand his meaning.

"You don't have to go, not for me."

"Oh, make no mistake, I'd be going for the ducks and only the ducks." His sad smile is echoed in his eyes, his posture, every bit of him. "Besides, I really need to make sure those ducks get taken care of. Who'll feed them if I don't get them some bread?"

The duck metaphor is absolutely abominable and it makes her chuckle. And it shatters her.

"The ducks will be just fine, Dan. Maybe they need to learn how to take care of themselves. Maybe they already have and we're just enabling their dependency on us."

"Maybe."

Then he takes her in his arms and crushes her to him, he can't help it. Her arms squeeze around his middle that is too skinny and why doesn't he eat more? Her tears stain his stupid plaid shirt and she can't be sure, but she thinks she feels wetness against her scalp where he has buried his face in her hair. This time it feels resolute. This time they are saying goodbye and actually mean it. This time, it's over.

"Blair, I don't know if I can say goodbye to you again." His breath hitches because he's about to cry and he can't stand the idea of her seeing him like this.

Her finger lifts his chin so that his eyes meet hers and he sees the sum of all that they mean to each other reflected in them. A single tear drips down her cheek.

"You can do anything. You're the strongest person I know."

"No, that's not true. I'm not at all what you think. I can't do it." He's embarrassed because he can't get his emotions under control so he looks away.

Her hands wipe tenderly at his wet face. "You're going to have to."

_End of Part Two_


	3. Chapter 3

Dan is not drunk...yet. But he's thinking about it.

Blair is leaving him again, has left him. She's always leaving him so why isn't he used to it by now? He feels it as keenly as if it were the first time, except that this time she is thinking rationally and she still rejects him. Yeah, this time is worse. He is back at square one with just about everything and there is nothing he or anyone else can do to change it. His heart is aching at the realization that as much as he loves her, it is just not enough. He is alone and she is gone for good and there's a half bottle of Jack Daniels in the loft somewhere.

He busies himself with apartmenty things like organizing his dvds and refolding his sock drawer, but she's still on his mind. He cleans out the refrigerator and changes his sheets next, and when that doesn't work he resorts to calling his sponsor because he's eventually going to have to call him anyway so why not get it over with now.

"I need to get some things off of my chest."

"Okay. Talk to me."

"It's just that I still don't understand. Why would the universe push me, no, _shove _me to her only to tear her from me? I'm being melodramatic of course, but I'm just baffled at this turn of events. She makes me happier than I've ever been and I don't see that changing for anyone. I'll always compare the women in my life to her because she is the most perfectly imperfect person. It's not that I think I can't be content, I know I can. But I've seen platinum. How could I possibly go back to gold?"

They talk for an hour and Dan tells him he's okay even though he's not. He turns on the television so that he can turn off his brain and the _Pride and Prejudice _mini series is airing. The good one, according to Blair, and the only one worth watching. Fucking BBC. He shuts it off and picks up his laptop hoping to garner something good from his misery. It sits open and his fingers type nothing for his situation isn't tragically beautiful or exquisitely painful, it's just hopeless.

He hears the knock on the door and hopes against hope that it isn't his sponsor because he's still thinking about that whiskey. He needn't have worried though as it's not his sponsor at the door. It's Chuck Bass, looking dapper and disheveled all at once.

"Humphrey. May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah?"

He steps aside as Chuck pushes past him, obviously harboring an agenda underneath his gelled hair. Chuck whips around before Dan can even get the door closed and unloads.

"What is it, Dan? What exactly is it about you that she finds so fascinating? For the life of me, I will never understand it."

"I don't know where this is coming from, but I think she settled this issue a long time ago. She chose you. She's still choosing you every day. What is this about?"

Chuck paces the room, distraught and slightly feral. He runs his hands through what little hair he has and Dan wonders briefly if he might be in danger.

"I mean, you're just so common and bland, no offense. You may have sold a couple of books but there's no way that's lasting."

"Is there a reason for this visit?"

Chuck glares at him and he sees something else behind the elitist sneer and rage. He sees hurt and pain, and it's like looking into a mirror.

"She's in love with you. Always has been. I've tried to understand it but I can't and I don't think I ever will."

It's as if Chuck is speaking Portuguese or maybe Mandarin, or some other language that Dan doesn't know.

"Chuck. She loves you. She's married to _you_."

"No, she doesn't. Well, maybe a little, but you're the one she really wants to be with. She told me, on our wedding night no less." His humorless chuckle accompanies his deflating dignity.

Dan's mind is racing and it starts to spin. He has to grab onto the door frame to steady himself. He can feel his blood pumping through his veins as the tiniest amount of hope seeps in like an iv drip.

"What are you talking about? That makes no sense, Chuck. Why would she tell you that?"

"Because she wanted me to know what I was getting myself into. It was her way of protecting me, I guess. If I knew about her feelings for you, then I wouldn't be as disappointed when she didn't return mine. It's Blair, you know?"

"No. No, I still don't buy it. She would never have married you if she didn't love you. She was just mad at you or something, trying to get back at you."

"Humphrey, you're such a stubborn ass! I'm trying to be noble here and you're ruining it for me. Just sit down and listen!"

Dan does as he's told and waits for him to speak. It takes Chuck a few moments, but he calms himself down enough to continue.

"Blair has always been protective of me. We're connected. She was there for me in every way she could be when my father died, or when I thought he had died. I went through some awful things and she was just there for me. She's always been there for me because she cares about me, maybe even loves me. When my father returned and stripped me of everything, it was an easy decision for her. She stepped in just like she always had. She may be vindictive but she's also selfless."

"I know."

"When she left you, do you know how she justified it? She told me that you were such a strong person that you didn't need her. And I did. She wanted me to be happy but she forgot about her own happiness in the process."

Dan starts to feel that familiar burn in his throat that he's been fighting against all day so he clears it and whispers.

"And you're under the impression that I would make her happy?"

Chuck looks at the ground for what feels like an eternity.

"I know you would because she told me that night after you two fought at the reception. She came to our room acting all weird and desperate. She finally sat me down and told me that the man she was in love with, the man who made her happiest, despised her and that I would have to settle for this version of her. The incomplete version, she said, and then asked me if I could handle that?"

Dan sees Chuck's lips quiver and feels a kinship with him in that moment.

"And you told her that you could handle that?"

"Yes. I told her I'd rather have just a part of her than none at all. But I'm tired now. She's trying so hard to be better, to overcome her situation, and I can't be an obstacle any more. You know, I think part of the reason she chose me in the first place was because I was her safety net and she needed more than anything to feel familiar after what happened. She told you what the doctor said?"

"She told me some. She mentioned something about post traumatic stress after the accident and it had gotten worse and worse because it went undiagnosed," Dan winces before the next part, "and she never really let herself grieve her baby's death." It's difficult for Dan to discuss this, even now, because he blames himself so much for not noticing her pain when he could have helped her.

Chuck nods and slowly starts for the door. "So you understand how she is, what she needs. Good, that's good." He takes another step. "So you know why I'm here then."

"No, I don't."

"I'm leaving her. She needs the person who can make her happy. So I'm leaving her," he breathes deeply for this next part is the hardest, "and you need to go to her."

Chuck turns without another word. His feet are almost out the door when her hears Dan's impassioned "Thank you." He pauses briefly to respond, but can't muster the will to do anything. So he walks on out the door.

...

Blair is not drunk...yet.

Her hands are shaking and she's having trouble steadying the wine bottle. She can't quite make the liquid pour into the glass without spilling all over the counter.

"Damnit!" She slams the bottle down not caring of it breaks.

Chuck left two days ago and she's not sure how to respond. She's cried tears of sadness and relief. She's shouted at Dorota and relaxed into her embrace. She's even called up Serena to bitch at her and to thank her. There's one person she hasn't reached out to though.

God, what would she even say to him? Hi Dan, sorry I didn't choose you even though I wanted to, several times, because I'm in love with you. Sorry you seem to be my second choice, even though you're not, but I'm a masochist so there's that. Hi Dan, sorry I made you feel less than important to me.

She's kidding herself if she thinks he'd ever forgive her. She picks up the bottle again, steadying her breathing and her hands and manages to pour a little bit into the glass. It's a rich cabernet and it soothes as it slides down her throat. She's not supposed to be drinking but it's just a little bit and she deserves it after the week she's had. She collapses onto the sofa before downing the rest of the glass when the elevator dings.

"Dorota, thank God you're finally here. Can you go get me the bottle from the kitchen? I'm too tired to get up."

She waits and nothing.

"DOROTA! Did you not hear me? I know you don't work for me and this isn't the Waldorf penthouse but pleeeease can you just go get it for me?"

The bottle appears in the hands of the person who arrived on the elevator, but that person isn't Dorota. He's dressed impeccably in Marc Jacobs from head to toe and he's carrying Daffodils in one hand, her cabernet in the other. His hair is freshly shorn and his face is cleanly shaven. He takes her breath away.

"It took me a minute to find the kitchen. I've never really been inside here before. Here you go."

He casually hands her the bottle as if it's perfectly normal that he's shown up at the apartment she shares with Chuck looking like a GQ model.

"Dan! Oh god, I look awful, I'm not fit for company. Umm, can you give me a minute?"

"What's wrong with the way you look? You look just fine to me."

"I just, I've been sitting around all day, my hair's a mess...oh hell, never mind. Hand me that bottle. Oh wait, shit, I'm sorry. I forgot you can't be around it. I'll put it away."

He laughs that warm laugh of his and the rooms brightens tenfold for it. He hands her the flowers with a shy grin.

"Take these while you're at it, don't want them to wilt. Oh, and they're for you."

After the wine disappears down the drain, the flowers go in an antique vase in the living room so she can look at them. They sit down, her on the sofa, him in a stiff chair, as each waits for the other to speak first.

"So I guess you heard about me and Chuck."

"Yeah, I heard. Are you okay?"

"I'm actually doing surprisingly well. Thank you for asking."

The politeness is so polite and trite. It's not them and it's really uncomfortable but neither knows what the other is thinking. At least, that's what she thinks.

"Dan, I'm really glad you came by. I've been wanting to talk to you about something. It's kind of important."

He flashes her a Cary Grant smile and stands. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something too."

"Well, I said it first so let me go first, okay?" She watches as he takes a step in her direction. "This may sound strange and totally out of the blue, but Chuck's leaving me did not come as a shock. In fact, I'm a little surprised it didn't happen sooner. And it's not what you think, he's not a bad person. He's just a little misguided."

He steps closer to her, hands in his pockets. "Oh, I know that. In fact, Chuck is a saint in my book these days." Step.

Her brow furrows as she takes his words in and she continues, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt all the while. "He never would have left me if he didn't have a really good, valid reason."

Step. "And did he? Have a valid reason?" Two steps.

She looks him over, designer clothes, confidant expression, and it occurs to her that Dan might know a little more than he's letting on. Step.

She pinches her lips together and narrows her eyes. "What do you know?"

The jig is up. Step, step. He's standing beside her now and his eyes are enveloping her, raking over her as if she is the most precious thing on this earth. But she is not one to give in so easily, even when the love of her life smells of soap and cedar.

She stands, indignant. "I repeat, what do you know?"

Then his hands are on her face and he's step, step, stepping until he is right up against her.

"I know everything."

She looks right into his eyes for they are less than four inches away from hers and she searches them. She sees humor and pleasantness, but she was already aware of that. She sees obstinance and candor and frankness and warmth. There is understanding and kindness, determination and will. She keeps looking for there is something that she hasn't dared let herself believe lingering underneath the surface. She gasps when she finally sees it.

"You forgive me." It isn't a question, it's a fact for she knows him better than anyone and can read him fluently.

"No, I don't forgive you." He says, confusion passing over his face.

She shrinks and her heart sinks, it was too good to be true. "Oh." Her head goes down and so do her hopes.

"I don't forgive you," his finger lifts her chin, "because there is nothing to forgive. You are not to blame for any of this, especially my issues."

"But I was horrible to you. I played with your emotions. I...I married someone else when all I wanted was to be by your side."

"And I wanted you there, but it wasn't the right time. You know that."

Her hands have found his waist and they begin to move around him, pulling him closer to her. He has one hand on her waist now, and one on her face. It's the Humphrey way, after all.

"And is now the right time, do you think?" She flirts a bit and can't believe she has it in her after the week she's had, but he's just so...Dan.

"Yes, I do think now is the right time."

Then his lips are on hers, tentative and sweet, and it takes everything in her not to moan. His hand goes behind her neck and pulls her head in so that he can kiss her again, harder and more fervently. Her hands slide up his back as tongues and bodies mingle. Their hearts race as he kisses her again and again, and there is so much emotion pent up that she feels like she might explode. She pulls away first, overwhelmed, and it's as if he already knows because he gently places his hands on her shoulders.

"We have plenty of time for this, we don't have to rush into anything." He wraps his arms around her so that her nose is close to his neck and she breathes him in, relishing his presence.

She's glowing and there's an unfamiliar feeling seeping in and she doesn't know its name, but it's wonderful.

"Dan? Do you remember how I said that I wanted to talk to you about something?" He nods. "It wasn't so much something that I wanted to discuss with you, but something that I wanted to tell you."

His head cocks to one side, amused at her and adoring her.

"I wanted to tell you that I love you."

He smiles. "That's what I wanted to tell you too."

As he leans in once more for a chaste kiss that says so very much, she is suddenly able to put a name to that unfamiliar feeling.

She is happy.

_THE END_


End file.
